


Integrated

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Kittie And Gem Stories [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Erections, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, PWP, Playful insults, Sweetness, Threesome - M/M/M, Virgin Sherlock, no anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 02:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8269987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: Lestrade, who had been sitting in Sherlock’s chair while nursing his beers, dropped the newest empty bottle to the floor before grabbing another. He turned his attention from the TV as the game they were watching was interrupted by adverts and cleared his throat, “So, um, you and Sherlock…you definitely not a thing?” He murmured seemingly at random, and it was something John had never expected to hear from Lestrade, of all people.“I'm...sorry?” John asked, blinking through the haze of the alcohol, “Oh. Oh, right. No, definitely not a thing. He's not interested like that and, well, I'm not gay. Obviously.”





	

It wasn't very often that John got the chance to relax in the comfort of his own home - especially not with company - which is why he relished the opportunity to sit with Greg. They were nursing a few alcoholic drinks and shouting various insults at the referee who was making terribly bad decisions regarding the football game. In the few hours they had spent together, they had talked about various topics from work, music, their childhoods, and Mycroft's meddling before quietening when the football began again.

Lestrade, who had been sitting in Sherlock’s chair while nursing his beers, dropped the newest empty bottle to the floor before grabbing another. He turned his attention from the TV as the game they were watching was interrupted by adverts and cleared his throat, “So, um, you and Sherlock…you definitely not a thing?” He murmured seemingly at random, and it was something John had never expected to hear from Lestrade, of all people.

“I'm...sorry?” John asked, blinking through the haze of the alcohol, “Oh. Oh, right. No, definitely not a thing. He's not interested like that and, well, I'm not gay. Obviously.”

“…how do you know he’s not interested?” Lestrade asked next, avoiding eye contact by looking down at his beer bottle and fiddling with the label.

John took another swig of his drink and focussed on the brightly coloured bleach advert playing before turning his attention back to Greg, “That first night with the cabbie case, we had a brief discussion. He told me he was married to his work.”

Lestrade scoffed, “And? That was then, and this is now, and…John…not sure if you’ve noticed but you’re kind of a part of that now. His work, I mean. He hardly does anything without you tagging along with him. So…you know, what does that tell you?”

“I'm his lackey?” John tried to joke only for it to fall flat. He cleared his throat and took another drink, “Why? What's with this sudden line of questioning? Even if I was interested, I don't think he does that. Sex and relationships. He's never been with anyone in the time I've known him.”

“I just…thought I’d ask,” Lestrade replied lamely with a grimace, glancing up at John with a quick flick of his eyes, “ _Are_ you interested?”

John thought for a long second. There had definitely been times when his heterosexuality had been tested, even bent a little. In the army, he had had a few adrenaline fuelled handjobs with soldiers after a hair-raising battle when a man's blood was pumping and he either wanted to kill something or fuck something. With Sherlock, however, it was deeper than that. Far more base and animalistic.

“I might be,” John admitted, biting his lip and looking up at Greg, “What about you? You've known him longer than me. Ever been...interested?” he teased.

“Hey!” He replied, blushing almost instantly as he frowned and shot John a weak glare, “Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous – this is about you and him. About what could be between you if you…just…tried it out…maybe?”

“You do!” John almost squeaked as he sat up in his chair, the restarted game on the TV forgotten, “You fancy him!”

“No! No, I don’t! I really, really don’t!—Nope. No. No. No…” Lestrade said, shifting his weight as his blush deepened, “No. I don’t. _You_ do though! So I want to, you know, help you.”

John considered for a moment, tilting his head, “I'll tell him about my...interest if you do. It's obvious that there is something there between you and him. He doesn't treat you as horribly as some of the others so I think he might like you back,” John smiled, “I'm surprised though, I didn't think you swung that way.”

“I don’t!” Lestrade exclaimed a little too quickly, “John, seriously, it’s…it’s not…I don’t even…no. Look, stop, this is about you and him and—Wait, why would you want that? Why would you be okay if I told Sherlock I fancied him – which I don’t, by the way – but if I did, why are you fine with that?”

John bit his lip and wiggled around in his chair so he was totally facing Lestrade. His face serious as he thought about his answer, “You're a good man. I trust you with him. If you do become... intimate, I know you would look after him. I’d probably be jealous, yes, and I might try and catch a sneaky peek in the bedroom,” he winked with a laugh, “but Sherlock deserves some happiness, and so do you. Also, a good shag might be just what the prickly bastard needs. He stormed out earlier because I told him he couldn't bring a dead fox in to store in our freezer. I think he needs a good orgasm.”

“Then why don’t _you_ give it to him? I don’t need to do that…I’m not…I don’t want to anyway,” Lestrade said, spluttering slightly.

John shrugged casually, cracking open another beer, “We could _both_ do it; both tell him how we feel and see what he wants to do about it. _If_ he wants to do something about it.”

Lestrade coughed and sat up, rubbing the back of his neck, “John…stop…I don’t…” he trailed off at the look John shot him and then winced, covering his face with one hand, “Oh, Christ…”

“Look,” John said, leaning forward and feeling the liquid courage of the beer flooding his veins, “What's the worst that can happen? He won't stop coming to crime scenes as he'll kill himself with boredom. We're still going to remain friends. All that you might lose are the regular angry phone calls. Win-win really,” he laughed high pitched and happy, “and if he says no, well…we always have each other.”

“We…” Lestrade stared at John through the gaps between his fingers with wide eyes, “R-really?” He asked, looking sceptical and then suddenly overcome, “Um. I think I need something stronger than beer...”

“Sorry. Sorry I can be a bit intense when I've been drinking,” John laughed, feeling slightly shy and then embarrassed as he blushed, “I mean, I wasn't suggesting anything. Just that, well, I've always found you quite attractive and – we're both single and our jobs are stressful. It's hard to get anyone to work around Sherlock so it sort of makes sense,” John quieted at seeing the shocked look on Greg's face, “Sorry. I'll get the scotch.”

“Wait, you’ve always found me quite attractive? _‘Quite’_?” Lestrade asked, almost chuckling as he said it, “Well, thanks…I guess.”

“What did you want me to say?” John laughed from the kitchen, “ _‘Lestrade, you're a dish. Now would you like to fuck me?’_ I'm not easy! I like to woo my partners…although 'quite' attractive probably wasn't my best chat up line.”

Lestrade snorted in amusement and got up to stroll over to John with his eyebrows raised and a cheeky sort of smile on his face, “You’re the receiver, then?”

“Never tried,” John admitted with a coy smile, “Well, nothing bigger than fingers, anyway. I like that,” he shrugged, “You?”

“No. I’m more of a giver,” Lestrade said, and his voice was suddenly a little husky. He looked John over and then shifted his gaze away, “I've not been with a bloke for years. Not since I was about twenty,” he said, clearing his throat, “What about you?”

John hesitated, “A few dalliances in the army; a drunken fumble at college. Nothing substantial,” he admitted, “I don't think it classes for enough to label myself.”

“Fair enough,” Greg nodded seriously, his fingers coming up to touch his lips before he tilted his head, “Is the scotch Sherlock’s? I don’t see you as a scotch drinker.”

“Mycroft's,” John said with a smirk, “stolen the last time Sherlock was summoned. Apparently, it's a good one.”

John poured the drink into two glasses and handed one to Greg, ensuring their fingers brushed gently and with a long, lingering touch.

Lestrade noticed the action with an interested tilt of his head and then grinned at him, taking a sip as he stepped close, “Mm. It _is_ a good one,” he said, glancing at the glass, “or I think so. It tastes great.”

“Hmm,” John nodded, taking a sip and feeling it burning down his throat. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Lestrade was watching him intently, his pupils massively dilated and dark, probably much like his own, “Alcohol always makes me aroused. Strange isn't it?” John asked conversationally.

“Mm,” Lestrade murmured in a throaty hum and took another step closer along with his next sip.

John braced himself against the kitchen counter, opening his stance to give Greg the opportunity to fit in the gap between John's thighs if he chose to. Tilting his head, John took a sip and then placed his glass on the counter before licking his lips.

Lestrade downed the rest of his scotch and put the empty glass aside. He took a breath and pushed up against John completely, pressing him into the counter as he surged down to kiss him with a wicked tongue and a hot breath. His hands grasped John’s shoulders first and then moved down under his arse to squeeze and heft John up a little. Lestrade kissed John like he’d been yearning to for a long, long time. He was passionate and skilled, the rough scratch of his stubble sending tingles up John’s spine as Lestrade deepened the kiss.

Moaning lightly, John rolled his hips into the kiss and ran a hand up to the back of Lestrade's head to pull on the silver strands. John could only moan and purr contentedly as he met each of Greg's teasing swipes of his tongue with those of his own, matching the rhythm perfectly and letting his other hand slip under Greg's shirt, rubbing across the slightly furred stomach.

Lestrade’s abdominal muscles twitched and he huffed with a grin against John’s mouth, moving to arch his pelvis and then nudging his obvious semi-erection into John with a few rocking thrusts. He grunted in pleasure and pressed into John with more insistence, almost picking him up onto the counter in his eager haste to get closer.

John hoisted himself onto the counter and wrapped his legs around Lestrade's waist. The height of the counter was perfect for their cocks to line up as John kissed Greg passionately and without much thought. His wandering hands now smoothed up towards the very hairy chest and nipples, stroking and thumbing each one as John rolled his hips and moaned deeply and seductively.

Hissing in pleasure, Lestrade bucked into John with a sharp, powerful push of his hips and moved his mouth down to kiss, lick, and then mark the skin of John’s throat avidly. The TV was still blaring but it was mere background noise as the rush of arousal flooded through John’s veins, heating his skin and making each rub, brush, and bite that Lestrade gave him even more intense. John hadn’t been intimate with someone for months. Four and a half months, to be exact. John had been without the touch of another for so long that he felt utterly light-headed with it all.

“Yes,” he hummed, grabbing Lestrade's hair and pulling his head back up for a tooth-clacking, blisteringly hot kiss full of tongue and lust. John moaned, feeling his cock throbbing in the confines of his jeans and he was already considering asking Greg to go upstairs where the lube and condoms waited. He needed to feel Greg's body against his, needed Greg's hand on him as he orgasmed intensely, “Greg,” he breathed, kissing along Lestrade's jawline to his ear.

Lestrade groaned in reply and bucked into him again, grabbing at John’s legs and then his back, rumpling up his jumper to touch the naked skin of his back. He dug his nails in a bit, groping and stroking at John, and was just about to tease down the edge of John’s jeans when the front door to the flat slammed open, knocking into the wall. Lestrade leapt back as if stung and scrambled awkwardly, nearly tripping over his feet. His face was red and his chest was heaving, and he cursed as the door was slammed shut and Sherlock came stomping up the stairs.

“Shit!” John hissed, jumping off the counter and wincing as his erection bent the wrong way. He rapidly shoved his hand down his pants, attempting to reposition his cock the best he could (not easy when you're above average in length and girth) before wiping his mouth, taking a drink of his scotch just as Sherlock burst through the door.

“Hiya. You ok?” John said rapidly, standing behind one of the kitchen chairs to hide his erection.

Sherlock glowered at him and made to storm on through but paused, slowly turning his head to look at him again, frowning at what he saw, “Why aren’t you watching your stupid sport?” He asked, gesturing toward the living room as he flitted his eyes over to Lestrade, making the man awkwardly adjusted his stance. Sherlock cocked his head.

“We were going to make tea,” John lied, looking at the cold and empty kettle, “I was just going to do it now. Do you want some? I can make you some.”

“Were you…?” Sherlock trailed off and looked between them, his brow furrowing deeply. He pointed at John’s throat with a sudden lift of his brows and a contorting mouth, not exactly sneering but not smiling either, “Oh my God, you _were_!”

Lestrade winced, “Sherlock, listen—”

“Is this what you do when you ‘watch sports’?” Sherlock asked them without wanting an answer. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head, and held up a hand to Lestrade when he went to speak again, “Save it, Lestrade. I really, _really_ do not want to know.”

“Sherlock, it's really not what you think!” John insisted before looking away, “Okay, maybe it is exactly what you think, but there's an explanation. We can explain.”

John's face was bright red up to his hairline and he cleared his throat, thankful that his erection had finally waned…mostly.

Sherlock scoffed and strode through to his bedroom, “I said I don’t want to know. If you wish to continue your little liaison, please do so elsewhere!” He told them, shutting his door loudly.

“That went well,” John grumbled, scrubbing through his hair and sighing, “I should try and talk to him…explain a little maybe? Although it's going to be hard enough to get him to come out of his room now that he's gone into full teenage-strop mode.”

Lestrade winced and nodded, “Maybe just explain that it was…you know…the, um, the alcohol?” He muttered, then exhaled a gush of breath and gestured for John to follow him, “Come on. I’ll, uh, I’ll help you fix things,” he walked down the short corridor to Sherlock’s bedroom and entered without even knocking, shocking Sherlock who was slumped on his bed.

“Lestrade!”

“Shut up,” Lestrade told him sternly.

“Good way of fixing things,” John muttered, hiding a smile, “Sherlock listen…it's not what you think.”

“Oh, I see, so you two _weren’t_ snogging against the kitchen counter?” Sherlock asked sarcastically, flashing John a forced, condescending smile until Lestrade gave him a short clip around the ear, “Ow!”

“Shut up, then,” Lestrade told him again, folding his arms, “John and I were…talking.”

“Didn’t seem like talking to me.”

“It was before then!” Lestrade said with a growing blush, looking agitated.

Realising that the conversation was going rapidly awry, John took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “Sherlock, I'm attracted to you. Have been for a while. We both are,” John said, looking apologetically at Greg and giving a soft shrug, “We talked about that and then – _that_ just sort of happened.”

“No, wait, I-I never said…” Lestrade tried as Sherlock inspected John’s face and then began blinking rapidly again, his eyebrows lifting in shock.

“…You’re both attracted to me, yet you were kissing each other?” Sherlock asked in confusion.

“I'm attracted to him, too,” John blushed, looking at Lestrade and then back to Sherlock, “I like you both.”

Sherlock only seemed more perplexed, “All right…”

“He likes you more though,” Lestrade told him.

“Look, I know this is weird. It's been sprung upon you and it's probably really strange and unusual. I understand,” John said, taking a step closer and sitting on Sherlock's bed, “We just... _I_ wondered if you felt the same about me? About us? Either of us. We won't take it personally if it's only one.”

Sherlock looked like a deer caught in the headlights as he glanced between them both with large eyes, “No,” he said after a moment, “please leave.”

“Sherlock,” Lestrade sighed, “I really think you should reconsider. I see the way you look at him, you know. I’m not blind!”

“Yes you are,” Sherlock scoffed.

“He doesn't look at me like anything,” John frowned, “I told you. I said he wouldn't be interested,” John put his head in his hands briefly before sighing and looking back up, “I'm sorry, Sherlock. This is so bad. I'm sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to him,” Lestrade said and then shot a scowl at Sherlock, motioning pointedly to John. When Sherlock didn’t move and only arched a single haughty eyebrow at him, Lestrade cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck and guided him closer to John. Before John could reprimand Lestrade for being forceful, Sherlock suddenly pressed a kiss to his cheek under the guise of being made to by Lestrade, though the kiss was chaste and he had obviously pursed his lips to give it.

John smiled a little, raising an eyebrow and then giggling, “Is that the best you can do?” he teased, all fear of Sherlock rejecting him disappearing, “ _That's_ your best attempt?”

“No,” Sherlock replied grumpily, moving away when Lestrade let him go.

John hesitated for a brief second before throwing himself at Sherlock, kissing him soundly on the lips with a wet smack which echoed around the room, “Better,” he chuckled, looking at Lestrade and smiling, “You should try.”

Lestrade looked taken aback, the smile he had on his face after watching them kiss slipping, “What? No. No. I…I’m not...John, I told you that I didn’t,” he said, holding up his hands as Sherlock touched his own mouth with his fingertips.

“Kiss _me_ then,” John hummed, tilting his head back for attention, “I'm sure Sherlock wouldn't mind. Would you?”

Sputtering, Lestrade flushed red as Sherlock shrugged and shook his head, “No,” Sherlock replied, “I don’t mind.”

“Oh God,” Lestrade muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “No, John, we…we shouldn’t have, uh, shouldn’t have done what we did. This is just about you two.”

“For fuck’s sake,” John huffed, using his superior strength to grab Lestrade and almost flip them so that Greg was now lying on the bed with John between his spread legs, “Why does everything have to be difficult with you two?” he laughed, bending down to kiss Lestrade softly with just a hint of tongue slicking across the seam of his lips. John pulled back and moaned, looking at Sherlock who was looking slightly pink on his cheeks and chest, “Now _you_ kiss him.”

Sherlock looked startled at the light demand, “What happened to you between this morning and now?” He asked in amusement.

Lestrade pushed up onto his elbows and let out a shaky breath, “John,” Lestrade started slightly breathless at the prospect awaiting them all, “Wait a moment, will you? This is…is…weird. Don’t you think this is weird?”

“No. It's only weird if we make it weird. I'm happy to do this; are _you_?” He asked Sherlock, “Because if nobody is happy about doing it then we can stop, but if we’re all consenting adults then why not?”

Lestrade opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock cut him off with a sudden look of intrigue, “What exactly does this entail?” He asked, voice deeper than it had been before, as he glanced down at Lestrade with a quirking smirk.

“Whatever you want. We could stay with kissing if that's all you're interested in; could go all the way. Depends on our boundaries...” John trailed off and then reached over to stroke through Sherlock's hair and kiss him lightly again, “I'm quickly realising that I have no boundaries when it comes to you…and it's scary how many things I want to do to _you_ , too,” he said to Lestrade, bending to kiss him, as well.

Exhaling shakily with a barely controlled shudder, Lestrade swallowed and gripped the bed when Sherlock nimbly leaned down to join John in kissing him. The kiss between all three of them was odd but powerfully electrifying, and Lestrade’s eyes lidded watching Sherlock pull back to coyly nose at the side of John’s jaw.

“No need to tell me I'm a genius, I already know,” John mumbled, smirking at Sherlock and kissing him softly on the cheek before rubbing his hands up and down Greg's torso, “Do we want to discuss our boundaries now, or just see what happens? Obviously, as a doctor, I know that myself and Sherlock are clean of all STIs. Lestrade?”

“Huh? Oh. Um. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine…” Lestrade replied, relaxing against the bed with a look of pleasure as John crumpled up his shirt on every upward stroke of his palms, “God that’s…that’s nice,” his mumbling admittance made him blush more, but he didn’t shy away from arching his back.

“How long has it been?” John asked, his voice low and purring, “How long since you had someone?”

Although asking Lestrade, John also looked at Sherlock with a raised quizzical eyebrow.

“Not since my ex—Fuck, I don’t know how long…a year? More? It’s been a while…” Lestrade responded with a moan. Sherlock didn’t answer, merely blinked at John and watched his interaction with Lestrade intently.

“I bet you're bursting for it,” John smiled warmly, running his hands up and down Greg's torso and then down to cup and stroke his bulge teasingly before returning to the safe area of Greg's navel, “Sherlock? What about you?”

“What does it matter?” Sherlock mumbled, entranced by John’s hands-on Lestrade before Lestrade began to eagerly unbutton his own shirt with shaking fingers.

“It doesn't matter, I just want to know,” John hummed, twisting so that he could lick, kiss, and suck down Sherlock's long neck and then back up to his ear, “I want to know how long it's been since you've come by another person's hand. Or cock. I'm not really fussy, I just want to know.”

Sherlock tensed and swallowed roughly, “I haven’t,” he whispered with a bloom of colour and heat up his cheeks.

John growled, deep and purring in his chest as he sucked a mark directly beneath Sherlock's ear, “Good. That's what I wanted to hear,” he said possessively, “Lestrade and I are going to be the only ones who get to touch you. To see you. To taste you,” John moaned and bent down to snog Greg with no finesse and all tongues. When he came up for air, John turned back to Sherlock and cupped his cheek, “You can do anything you want, but if you need a break or you want to stop, then tell us and we'll stop. Won't be Greg?”

“Yeah,” Lestrade nodded, looking up at Sherlock and then smiling reassuringly, ignoring the massive, prominent bulge in his own jeans as he finally stripped himself of his shirt to lie topless under John. Sherlock looked at him immediately and then lifted his gaze back to John, seeming very coy despite the wideness of his pupils.

“I’ll watch,” Sherlock told him.

“You sure?” John asked, moving to brush his fingers through the grey curls covering Lestrade's chest. His thumbs circled the now swollen nubs of Greg's nipples causing the other man to raise his hips and moan.

Sherlock inclined his head, “Yes,” he replied and moved up to sit against the pillows on his bed, his back to the headboard.

“Don’t go deducing me,” Lestrade told him with a throaty tone as he reached to undo his jeans, sighing when his erection was allowed more freedom to grow.

John took a final look at Sherlock, reaching over to squeeze the man's calf before focussing his attention all on Greg. Smiling warmly, John reached down and stroked Greg's cheek, “Come here you,” he smiled, pulling Greg to half sitting so they could easily kiss, their hands sliding up and down one another's neck and shoulders. Their tongues slipped against one another, caressing and flicking until both men were panting and moaning, clutching one another tightly before John broke the kiss to pull off his own jumper and unbutton his shirt.

The scar on his shoulder was still red and angry, but none of the men mentioned it as John rutted his clothed erection against Greg as he reached down to kiss him again, one hand stroking the left nipple until it stood peaked and reddened, “Good?” John asked.

“Yeah,” Lestrade breathed and then shifted them both, awkwardly shuffling further onto the bed with a boyish grin and a wet, passionate kiss to John’s throat, “You taste good,” he moaned, licking and sucking yet another mark onto John’s skin.

“Is that why you keep trying to eat me?” John huffed, arching an eyebrow, “I'm not a 17-year-old boy! I'm a middle-aged man; I can't walk around with love bites,” he giggled, “I’m starting to think you're trying to lay claim to me.”

“Maybe,” Lestrade laughed, shooting a challenging glance at Sherlock for a moment, and then trailing his mouth down John’s chest to kiss and lightly bite his nipple.

“There's enough to go around,” John commented, raising an eyebrow as he peeked down at the rather sizeable bulge in his jeans, “ _more_ than enough, if I may say so myself.”

Lestrade leaned back to look down and huffed, “Uh. Yeah. Certainly looks like it,” he said, undoing the button as he pressed a few more kisses over John’s chest.

John stood up from the bed to let his trousers fall to the floor before kicking them away. His cock was stretching out the fabric of his boxers, creating a wet patch of precome at the tip of the flared glans, which was visible through the damp material. John smiled bashfully at Lestrade and then Sherlock, who was staring virtually open-mouthed and offline as he tracked John's movements.

Whilst away from Lestrade, John used the opportunity to pull down the DI's trousers, letting them fall alongside his own somewhere behind him. John kissed Lestrade's stomach and then moved up, kissing and nuzzling until he reached his chest, giving their cocks the perfect opportunity to line up and sweep against one another sensually, “Christ,” John moaned, burying his head in Lestrade's neck, “Fuck, that feels good.”

“God, yeah,” Lestrade growled, rocking his hips with a shudder and grasping handfuls of John’s backside as he adjusted him and then found a slow, teasing rhythm that increased quickly.

“Sherlock?” John said, looking across at the other man who was still silently watching, “Do you have any lube?” John looked down at Lestrade and noticed the look of terror on his face, “Oh no! Not for _that_. Just to make things more slippery down here. There will be no...internal stuff tonight.”

“Oh, good,” Lestrade huffed with a laugh, peering up at Sherlock, who was perched at the head of his bed with his legs drawn up and his eyes staring unblinkingly forward, “Sherlock?” Lestrade reached for him and touched his toes, “Sherlock!”

“Yes?” Sherlock answered with a sudden and sharp inhale as if coming back to himself.

“Do you have lube?”

“No.”

John groaned and then noticed a bottle of Sherlock's poncy body lotion. It looked far too decadent to be used for masturbation purposes, but John put that argument aside and rushed to grab it, dropping it to the bed and looking between Lestrade and Sherlock, “I'm going to take these off,” he said, putting his thumbs into Lestrade's boxers, “this is going to change everything. Once we've gone this far, we can't go back. We'll have seen the DI of Scotland Yard's penis. Fairly certain we now need to sign the Official Secrets Act,” John giggled playfully.

Lestrade laughed, “Fuck you,” he said fondly, slapping John’s backside and then smoothing his hands over John’s thighs.

“Not with this stuff,” John winked, nodding at the moisturiser, “Can I take them down?” he asked, slowly beginning to work the boxers down whilst watching the inches of skin slowly reveal themselves.

“Yes,” Lestrade told him, shifting and flexing his hips eagerly, only giving Sherlock a fleeting, passing look.

John moaned, then blushed as the grey/silver pubic hair came into view, followed by the large penis pressed inside the boxers. It sprung up, slapping against Greg's stomach wetly as John pulled off the underwear and ran his hands up and down Greg's thighs, “Fuck. You're gorgeous,” John groaned before bending down and suckling the tip of Lestrade's cock into his mouth, licking his tongue around the inside of the foreskin and tasting the musky, salty precome with a groan.

Hissing in delight, Lestrade tensed and half sat up, clenching his eyes shut briefly as he cursed under his breath and reached to cradle the back of John’s head. He shivered and dropped his head back, then very slowly rolled his hips to push more of his erection into John’s mouth.

“It's been a while since I've done this; sorry if I'm bad at it,” John whispered, his lips already kissed red as he blushed and ducked his head to take more of Greg's cock in his mouth. Using one hand to steady the cock, he used his second hand to press against his own aching erection as he focused mostly on Greg and tasting his prick from all angles. Stroking from base to tip, John choked a little on the rapidly flowing precome before smiling and swallowing, “You taste good.”

“Fuck, John,” Lestrade groaned, looking down at him and shuddering. His engorged penis thickened some more and then twitched, and Lestrade flushed with deep arousal, rutting his pelvis forward very slightly for more.

Humming, John dropped his head to nuzzle and suck at Lestrade's testicles, licking behind at the perineum for a brief moment before licking back up the shaft. Unwilling to wait any longer, John dropped his own underwear and stroked himself slickly and without shame. John groaned around Greg’s shaft, causing buzzing vibrations to travel up and down it - much to the delight of Lestrade, judging by the noises and aborted thrusts the man was giving, “Good?” John asked again, obviously looking for compliments and encouragement.

“Fuck yes! Jesus Christ, John; you’re amazing, all right? Fucking fantastic! This is the best blowjob I’ve had in years!” Lestrade replied, shaking and squirming, the muscles in his thighs and stomach contracting.

John smiled and bobbed his head as quick and as deeply as he could without gagging. His other hand moved fast and hard on his own cock, stroking the precome out as his hips stuttered forward and his tongue teased Greg's slit.

Lestrade gasped and moaned, arching and writhing, “Ah! Oh, God…John…John, stop a moment, will you? Stop and…come up here,” he husked, grabbing for John’s shoulders to urge him upwards, “Get up here.”

John blinked but nodded, licking his lips and then wiping them on the back of his hand as he climbed up, arranging their bodies so that their cocks were once more lined up together. John immediately grabbed Greg and pulled him in for a deep and passionate kiss before pulling away with a wince, “Sorry. I can brush my teeth?” He offered sheepishly.

Looking dazed and confused for a moment, Lestrade snorted and shook his head, bringing John back in for another kiss, dominating John’s mouth as he surged up against him and rolled them over, pressing John into the bed. They were closer to Sherlock now and Lestrade took great relish in reaching for the young man, stroking up his trouser leg to stroke the skin of his shin as he kissed John hot and hard and wanton.

“Yes. Yes, Greg. Sherlock. Please!” John moaned, grabbing the bedding on either side of him and rolling his hips in an attempt to get friction on his rosy, red-tipped, and leaking cock. His eyes rolled back when Lestrade touched him, their cocks sliding on the plentiful amount of precome between them, but it wasn't quite enough, “The lotion,” John groaned, taking huge gulps of air in an attempt to breathe through the fog of arousal in his mind, “we need the lotion.”

Lestrade lifted his head and looked around, making an awkward grab for it once he’d spotted it lying on the bedding, “Shhhh,” he huffed, kissing John again as he opened the bottle and leaned back to dribble the cream between their bodies, coating the head of John’s cock with a mischievous grin.

“ _Oh,_ ” John moaned, throwing his head back and clawing at Lestrade's shoulders, “Yes. Yes, that's... _yes_.”

Throwing the bottle aside afterwards, Lestrade then grabbed for one of Sherlock’s hands and pulled it - and rest of his body - closer, “You’re good with your hands, Sherlock,” he whispered, nudging him when Sherlock didn’t respond straight away, “Sherlock? Do you want to touch?”

“Touch?”

“Yeah,” Lestrade gestured to where both his and John’s erections were taut and straining, coated in lotion, “ _Touch_.”

Sherlock blinked and then, after a moment of hesitation, he curled his long fingers around them both tightly, stroking when prompted to do so by a groaning Lestrade.

“I'm closing my eyes,” John moaned, “because if I watch that happening, I'm going to come immediately.”

“Yeah,” Lestrade agreed breathlessly, rocking against John and into the clasp of Sherlock’s fingers as he started up a very pleasurable but steady pace.

“Sherlock?” John moaned, cracking an eye open to watch Sherlock as he watched the two slick penises pushing through his fingers, “Do you want me to touch you? I can if you’d like.”

“No,” Sherlock said quickly and avoided eye contact, grimacing in embarrassment when Lestrade stroked the curls at the back of his neck soothingly.

John moaned again but nodded his understanding, although he did extend one of his hands to stroke and hold onto Sherlock's knee. John arched his hips, moaning and sighing with every stroke which brought him closer to orgasm. Making soft little “ _uh's_ ” with every thrust.

“G-Greg. Sherlock. It's – close. I'm close,” John warned with a hitch in his voice, “so close.”

“Me too,” Lestrade exhaled, tensing with a gasp of pleasure when Sherlock increased the strokes, squeezing and stimulating the sensitive glans of both men.

“Kiss me,” John begged, “both of you? Please. Oh, fuck. I'm going to come, I need you to kiss me.”

John was bucking his hips and sweating, the noises getting louder and more frantic. He had always been a loud lover, overly enthusiastic in his pleasure, but this was something more intense than ever before and he found that he physically couldn't keep quiet. Almost on the verge of screaming, John pulled both men down towards him, “ _Please?!_ ” he begged loudly again, his eyes rolling back.

Lestrade was the first to kiss him, moaning deeply as he did so, and Sherlock’s mouth bumped gently at John’s cheek before Lestrade made room for him and urged him to partake in the kiss between the three of them.

John was gasping, his hands reaching out and pulling each man closer as he lifted his hips and pushed his tongue into whomever’s mouth was closest. He could tell the difference in taste: Lestrade still tasted like scotch and beer, whereas Sherlock tasted like polo mints and cigarettes; he had obviously been trying to hide the fact he had been smoking when he came back into the flat.

Finally reaching his peak, John froze solid and moaned loudly and roughly, his hips lifting before his cock throbbed and then burst in long, hot pulses of come which smeared across his and Greg's bellies and Sherlock's hands, “Oh, god!” John wailed, shaking with the intensity of the orgasm, “Oh god, I'm still coming,” he laughed, accidentally nipping Sherlock's bottom lip with his teeth.

Sherlock grunted hoarsely in fervent reply and then keened a bit with a stuttering moan of surprise orgasm and a shaking whine, his hand flexing erratically as pulses of come coated the inside of his tailored trousers. Lestrade thrust his erection against Sherlock’s fingers and John’s cock twice more before he climaxed with a wheeze and a long, drawn-out moan, twitching and jolting almost violently through the intense flood of satisfaction.

“Oh…oh, fuck,” Lestrade exhaled, rolling and wiggling his hips to prolong his orgasm, “Jesus fucking Christ…”

John huffed a laugh and nuzzled along Sherlock's cheek and then kissed Lestrade's chin. Too blissed out to do much more, he simply stroked his hands up and down Sherlock’s and Greg's arms, smiling giddily from the hormones flooding his system, “Sherlock, did you..?” he asked carefully, stroking a hand up to cup Sherlock's cheek, “I can finish you if you’d like?”

“…no, there’s no need. I - It - I already came.” Sherlock whispered with a husky, strained edge to his voice, trembling under John’s touch with his eyes tightly closed. Lestrade rubbed up and down Sherlock’s back, leaning in to affectionately nudge his cheek with his nose, and then grinned at John.

John looked between both men and then cupped Sherlock's bulge with his free hand, stroking it and registering the wetness from his orgasm seeping out through the fabric. Feeling Sherlock’s breath hitch, John reached up to cup Sherlock's face and stroke across his cheekbones, “You okay?” he asked cautiously, rubbing his finger across the broken skin of his lip, “Sorry if I hurt you.”

Sherlock shook his head, “You didn’t,” he murmured, looking self-conscious as Lestrade rubbed his back some more.

“I'm exhausted,” John laughed with a yawn and a stretch, looking down at his soiled stomach and Sherlock's hand, “Oh. You’d better er – wash your hands.”

Realising that Greg's arms were getting tired, John shuffled slightly and let Greg get up with a grunt, “Got plans for tonight?” he asked as casually as he could, “Because you could always stay here. If you wanted. Saves you getting a taxi back to yours.”

“Yeah? Um, because I have no plans. Not really. Just…this. Visiting you, that was my only plan, really,” Lestrade said as he looked everyone over and then made for the bathroom with a smile. He came back with a damp flannel and helped wipe Sherlock’s hand clean first, then wiped at himself and handed it to John, “I could take the sofa,” he offered uncertainly.

“Don't be silly,” John smiled, “Sherlock's bed is big enough for all of us. You don't mind if we both get in with you, do you?” he asked innocently of the younger man.

Sherlock blinked with a sluggish, far-away sort of look. He cleared his throat, leaned back and away, and looked between Lestrade and John, “No. I…don’t mind,” he mumbled.

With a grin, Lestrade reached to stroke the soft curls at Sherlock’s nape, “Thanks,” he huffed.

“I call the left side, and I think Sherlock should get in the middle,” John laughed, “he needs more insulation; skinny little man.”

**Author's Note:**

> John and Lestrade watch football and have a discussion which leads to an unusual turn of events.
> 
> One shot PWP
> 
> Big thank you to Goddess_Of_The_Night for reading through the story for me!
> 
> Feedback fuels us!
> 
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> [Kittie's Tumblr](http://kittiekatthings.tumblr.com/)  
> [Gem's Tumblr](http://gem-gem-bites.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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